The sun is blazing overhead, but it’s nothing compared to the heat rolling off your skin. The ocean hums in the background, but all you can hear is the slow thud of your pulse and the rustle of Rafe shifting beside you.

You’re laid out on the chaise longue like sin wrapped in sunbeams—red bikini clinging, skin glistening, sunglasses perched on your nose as you lazily chew a piece of bubblegum. Every movement you make is slow, deliberate, intoxicating. And you feel his eyes—hungry, possessive—tracing every inch of you.

He’s lying just a few feet away, shirtless and golden, muscles flexing every time he moves. He’s got that look again. Like he’s eye-fucking you. He watches your mouth. Watches your jaw flex. Watches your tongue press the gum between your teeth.

“Got another piece?” he asks, voice low, casual—but you can hear the tension underneath.

You lick your lips, just to tease. “Last one.”

He smirks, slow and wicked. Then leans in, real close—so close you feel his breath on your neck. “Then give me yours.”

You turn your head, raising a brow behind your shades. “What?”

His lips hover near yours. “Give. Me. Yours.” Each word a whisper, like a promise. Or a dare.

You don’t speak. You don’t need to. You slip your sunglasses off, tilt your chin up, and kiss him. Not a soft kiss. Not a sweet one. It’s deep, hot, breath-stealing. You part your lips, slide the gum into his mouth with a swirl of tongue, and he takes it without hesitation.

When he finally pulls away, your lips are tingling, your chest rising and falling faster than before. He leans back, eyes locked on yours, and with maddening calm, lies down again like nothing just happened.

Then—pop.

He blows a bubble with your gum, his mouth curling into a smirk that says he knows exactly what he just did to you.

And you? You’re wrecked. Turned on. Lit up like the sun itself.

And it’s not even noon.